Title: Give Chase
Summary: All Draco knows is that he can’t stop running.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Light bondage, D/s, roughness
Epilogue compliant? EWE
Word Count: ~6,000
Author's Notes: snivellyx, I really tried to capture the essence of your request, if you will, so I very much hope you enjoy. So many thanks to the mods for taking up the reins of this fantastic fest, and for their endless patience. Thank you to S for helping me turn the prompt into a bunny, and getting me excited about the story. Undying gratitude to B for being brilliant and helping me flesh out this story, for the constant support, and for the awesome beta. And a million thanks to M for the fantastic beta, advice, help with the title, and squeefulness, which helped me push through the final edits.
Draco ducked into the narrow alleyway and pressed his back to the ramshackle façade of the old apothecary. He’d remembered the spot just in time – he used to hide there as a child, sifting through the day’s acquisitions while his father finished his business inside. Draco closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the brick. It was comforting to know not everything he’d learned as a child was without use.
He started to count down from a hundred. Another minute and he’d look. Thirty seconds. He fought to catch his breath. Too soon and it’d look suspicious, but his heart was racing and he couldn’t risk… No, he wouldn’t even think it.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the alleyway and Draco peered around the corner, fingers curling into the edge of the brick. A shadow eclipsed the mouth of the alley as Potter stopped mid-step, hand darting to the pocket of his robes, to his wand, before he turned. Their eyes locked and Draco’s heart leapt to his throat before he pushed away from the wall, breaking into a run in the opposite direction. His robes snagged on something and he swore under his breath as cold air sliced through to his skin, but he didn’t slow. Even over the rush of blood in his ears he could tell Potter was close, feet pounding against the flagstones in time with Draco’s heartbeat batting against his ribs.
The alley forked and Draco tore down a side street, panic blossoming in his chest when he spotted the dead end, his only chance at escape now behind him. Searing with the effort, his legs refused to slow, and the makeshift wall loomed closer until his body connected, the unflagging wood finally breaking his momentum. His hands scrabbled for an anchor among the planks as he heard Potter come up behind him, panting nearly as hard.
“Malfoy.” The hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stood on end. “Why the fuck do you run when you know I’ll catch you?”
Draco was too winded to speak, and when Potter’s hand closed around his shoulder his only defence was to sag harder against the wall. Potter spun him easily, and his head knocked against the wall as Potter pushed him back against it.
Draco cracked open an eye. Potter’s jaw was clenched, his face close enough to make out the dark shadow threatening the skin around his mouth. He bunched his fist tighter in the front of Draco’s robes.
“What were you doing hanging around Gilliam’s old place?”
A jump in the vein at Potter’s temple drew Draco’s eye as Potter took a step closer. “I caught you,” he whispered, and Draco’s shoulders jerked. A tremor rippled down his spine as two fingers stabbed at his sternum, pinning him to the wall, the wood rough against his skin through the rip in his robes. “Now, talk.”
Draco’s head pounded, and his breath burned in his lungs as he held Potter’s eye and waited. Finally, Potter let his hand drop and took a step back. “Turn around.”
Draco did, sucking in a shuddering breath as he pressed his damp palms to the splintering wood. A minute passed. Gravel crunched behind him and Draco tried to follow Potter’s movements, but the kick caught him by surprise. The toe of Potter’s boot connected with the hard bone in his left ankle and he bit his lip around a grunt of pain before he spread his legs wider, ignoring the sharp throb that radiated through his foot.
Potter’s hands closed around his wrists and moved roughly down both arms until his fingers splayed against Draco’s ribcage. His palms felt hot against Draco’s skin, which shivered with nerves and dried sweat, and his body ached from the impact with the wall. The knot in his stomach tried to force its way out when Potter bent to run his hands up one leg and then the other, and his head swam when Potter squeezed roughly around his injured ankle before he finally released him.
Draco listened for the crunch of the gravel, and then Potter’s breath was hot and damp against his ear. “Next time, Malfoy.”
The air shifted with a crack and Draco fell to his knees, breathing hard.
The lift opened onto the second floor and Potter stepped inside, grinning. “Malfoy.”
Draco nodded. “Morning, Potter.”
Potter pushed the button for the tenth floor and craned his neck to watch the numbers on the display change as the lift lurched downwards. “What do you think about curry for lunch today?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Merlin, again? A man can handle Vindaloo only so many times in a single week.”
Potter smiled at him slyly before returning his eyes to the display. “A little spice puts hair on your chest, Malfoy. You especially could do with a bit of that.”
Draco folded his arms and sniffed. “Potter, I suggest you invest the time it takes to think up these clever innuendos into devising some more imaginative lunch options.” He stepped closer to the doors as the lift halted on nine. “And for the record, just because you’re a brute, doesn’t mean we all want to be.”
Draco didn’t realise the unintended meaning of his words until they were already out of his mouth, and his stomach flipped when he saw Potter’s cheeks heat a little. Potter seemed to laugh it off. “Whatever you say, Malfoy. Meet in the Atrium at half twelve?”
Draco nodded as he stepped off the lift, gritting his teeth as he gingerly shifted his weight to his right foot before he slowly started the trek down the hall.
“See you at lunch then!”
Draco didn’t turn, but he could practically feel Potter’s gaze burning into his back. As soon as he heard the elevator doors shut, he applied a little more pressure to his ankle, the rush of pain causing his heart to race. Biting back a hiss, he limped the rest of the way to his office.
Potter and the Weasel were already waiting for him when Draco stepped out into the Atrium. He weaved his way around the fountain, pushing through the bustling lunch crowd. The two of them weren’t difficult to spot; even in the Ministry Aurors were given a wide berth, their scarlet robes warding off fellow employees like a warning signal.
He watched Potter grin as the Weasel doubled over at something Potter must’ve said. The Weasel was wiping tears from his eyes when Draco finally reached them. He nodded. “Gentlemen.”
“You’re late,” Ron said, still a little out of breath. Draco raised an eyebrow and Ron held up his hands with a crooked smile. “All right, all right. Top secret DOM business, I get it.”
Draco leveled his most unimpressed look at Ron, whose smile only broadened, before he gave into a smirk. “How many times do I have to tell you, Weasel? I work in the accounting department.”
Ron snorted. “Whatever you say, mate.” He jerked his head towards the exit. “Now let’s go already. I’m starved.”
A half hour later, Draco had polished off more Indian food than was strictly decent for the middle of the day. He’d put up a fight at first, but Potter’s pleading and the Weasel’s whining had won out. Potter had, predictably, ordered the Vindaloo, to which Draco had rolled his eyes. He’d pretended not to notice Potter’s smirk when he himself opted for the Sag Paneer.
Draco tossed the last bite of Naan on his plate and looked down at his fingernails with disgust. The thing with Indian was, it always left you a fucking mess. He pulled at the chest of his robes and ducked his head to give them a sniff. Perfect. Now he’d spend the rest of the day reeking like curry.
“What’s the matter, Malfoy,” Potter laughed. “You look you’ve just been doused in mud.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. “Instead of having just eaten the most delicious curry in London.” He belched loudly and Draco leaned back in his chair, nose crinkled in distaste.
“Yes, well, we all can’t be as at one with filth the way you are, Weasley.”
Ron opened his mouth to let out another obnoxious belch before spreading his arms wide, proud grin splitting his face. He even muttered a few thank yous to the patrons at surrounding tables who’d shot dirty looks in their direction.
Potter just laughed. “Relax, you ponce,” he said, kicking Draco under the table. Draco winced as pain shot up his leg, but his eyes immediately darted to Potter’s. Potter was still smiling at him, no indication that he…
Draco shook his head. He was too warm all of a sudden. All that Indian food. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Loo. Back in a minute.”
Once safely inside the bathroom, Draco turned on the faucet and splashed a few handfuls of water on his face before shutting off the tap and reaching for a paper towel. He tossed it in the bin and met his reflection with a sigh. He looked like shit.
He ran a hand over his face as he slumped against the wall next to the sinks. Two months. Two months this… fucked up thing between him and Potter had been going on, and they’d never so much as acknowledged it before. Then Potter had gone and kicked him under the table, and Draco didn’t think he could handle this being out in the open. Some game they made tongue-in-cheek jokes about at the office.
Draco groaned. He truly was fucked. A Mind Healer could probably write a book on him, for Merlin’s sake.
The door swung open and Draco looked up. Potter. Of course.
“You all right, Malfoy? Ron was beginning to worry his belches had sent you running for the toilets.”
Draco pushed off from the wall. “Yeah, fine. Just- A lot on my mind. Work, you know.”
Potter stared at him a minute before taking a step forward. “Work?”
Draco nodded, his eyes darting to the empty stalls and then back to Potter. “Yes. Work.”
Potter took another step toward him, and then another, until Draco’s back was pressed tight against the wall, barely an inch between them. His eyes dropped to Draco’s foot. “So nothing to do with your ankle then?”
Heat crawled up the back of Draco’s neck as panic began to beat against his chest. He glanced over Potter’s shoulder at the door. Cornered between Potter and the sink, the only way out was through Potter. Draco licked his lips, breath already coming fast. Two months and here, of all places, Potter decides it’s time to talk.
“My ankle’s fine, Potter."
Potter’s smile turned wicked and Draco could feel the adrenaline begin to pump through his body. The instinct to flee, the sharp, heady panic of capture. Potter pressed two fingers to Draco’s chest and Draco bit his lip not to flinch. The spot was still sore from the night before and Potter knew it, too, goddamn him. He leaned in close and Draco could smell the curry on his breath.
“Then how’s this feel?”
The toe of Potter’s boot came down on the bone of Draco’s ankle and Draco sucked in a breath. His hands instinctively reached for Potter’s forearms, fingers digging into the sleeves of Potter’s robes as his body curled in on itself. “Fuck.” Potter slowly increased the pressure on Draco’s ankle as he pressed Draco back against the wall, forcing him upright, until tears welled in his eyes and he finally cried out. “Stop, Potter, please. Merlin, it fucking hurts, okay?”
Potter was only a breath away, his expression intense. He licked his lips as his eyes searched Draco’s face. “But you like it.” It wasn’t a question. Draco panicked. He’d never- He couldn’t, not like this. His heart beat wildly as he clawed at Potter’s arms, trying to push him away, but Potter was stronger than him. He withstood Draco’s efforts with little effect before grabbing both of Draco’s wrists and pinning them to the wall.
“What the fuck you two, I’d like to get back to-” Ron halted just inside the entrance to the bathroom. “What the hell is going on here? Harry, what are you crazy? Let go of Malfoy!”
Harry released him and took a step back, and Draco rubbed absentmindedly at the spot on his chest. His eyes were on Harry, who’d gone pale, head swiveling between him and Ron. “I just – It’s not what it look like, Ron. We, uh-”
“I appreciate you coming to my rescue, Weasel. Very valiant and all that. But I’d merely bet Potter here that he couldn’t pin me. Alas, I was mistaken, though I maintain it was the Sag Paneer. Makes the body sluggish.”
Ron looked uncertain for a moment before his face split into a grin. “Yeah? Well you should’ve called me in then. I can pin Harry any day of the week.” He winked at Draco, who managed a small smile in return. “But not in the men’s. A bit creepy if you ask me.”
Ron turned and pushed through the door to the bathroom and Draco hobbled out after him, avoiding Potter’s eye the entire way back to the Ministry.
Draco shifted nervously in the elevator, only half listening to the crazy bint from Planets spout off about all the paperwork Walsh had saddled her with that afternoon. Like he could give a flying fuck. For one thing, he worked in Time. For another, it was widely known that everyone who worked in Planets was off their nut. Besides, Draco had more pressing things on his mind.
Today had been interesting, to say the least. This… thing between him and Potter, it was crazy. Dangerous, even. He tried not to think about it too much, ever since that evening two months ago, when he’d felt someone following him home late from the Ministry and ran, only to be cornered by a very formidable looking Harry Potter before he managed to Apparate back to his flat. He especially tried not to think about the fact that it’d happened almost every weekend since then.
Draco snorted. His capacity for self-delusion really ought to be commended.
The quack from Planets mistook Draco’s self-chastisement for interest, and picked up her diatribe with renewed vigor. He strategically angled away from her and pointedly looked up at the lift display before letting his mind drift back to earlier in the men’s. He’d hardly thought of anything else all day, but he still couldn’t believe it had actually happened. There was an unspoken agreement between him and Potter; whatever this was, they weren’t to talk about it. Ever. For two months it’d gone on like that, until today.
The lift shuddered to a halt at the Atrium and Draco gestured Planets out ahead of him with a curt nod, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her conspiratorial wink. He ignored her final wave farewell as she veered right toward the Floos and instead he headed left, in the direction of the main exit.
Once on the street, Draco had to jump to dodge a small herd of early Christmas shoppers, hands full of wrapped boxes and overstuffed bags, not looking where the hell they were going, before he ducked down an alleyway about a block away from the Ministry. Tucked away from the view of the street, he took his gloves from the pockets of his cloak and pulled them onto slightly shaking fingers. He could already feel a nervous sweat building on the back of his neck, and his heart beat rapidly against his chest as he flexed his fingers in the snug leather. He knew he shouldn’t be getting worked up; it was a weekday, and there was no reason to think… Still, he just had a feeling.
Draco peered around the corner of the building, eyes trained on the entrance to the Ministry. A moment later Potter appeared in nearly the exact spot Draco had a minute before, nearly bowling over a harried-looking woman pushing a pram. Draco was still chuckling when Potter turned and looked straight at him, and every one of Draco’s muscles seized, goose flesh erupting on his skin like a million tiny minefields, making his entire body jerk. He held Potter’s gaze for another moment before he turned, and ran.
Draco breathed hard through his nose. A moment ago he’d been in a full out sprint, and now it felt like every ounce of energy he possessed had seeped out of his body and onto the filthy street. He shifted to take the pressure off his knee, wincing at the sharp sting of gravel pushing into the fresh cuts, before he lifted a gloved hand to his face to inspect the damage. The gloves had served him well: no more than a few scratches to the leather. He sat back slowly, pulling his legs in front of him, and lifted his torn robes, stained where he’d fallen. He hissed as he brushed the remaining gravel from the cuts, and reached for his wand just as he heard footsteps come up behind him.
Draco sighed. “I fell, Potter, all right? You’ve won.”
The footsteps stopped and then there was a long pause. Draco fought to regain his breath, still dizzy from the surge of adrenaline. He’d expected Potter to Apparate home, or to check to see if Draco was okay. Instead, he heard the crunch of gravel before a fist closed in the back of his hair and yanked him upwards. He cried out as he scrabbled for footing, pain shooting up his leg as he tried to follow the hand to ease the pressure on his scalp. Draco’s ears rang, blood pounding at his temples, and he could do nothing but hang there, limply, before his neck was bent back and Potter’s breath was hot against his ear.
"You'll know when I've won, Malfoy, because I'll tell you."
Potter released him, and he stumbled forward, hands going to his knees as he panted, blood still pounding at his temples. Draco shivered as the faint tingle of magic ghosted over his skin, the sting on his knees fading to a dull throb, before the crack of Apparition rang in his ears, and Potter was gone.
“Lovely party,” Potter said with a hint of a smirk, sitting next to him on the sill where Draco had taken up residence.
Draco glanced to his side, a fleeting moment of discomfiture before he regained composure. “If you call boxed wine in plastic cups lovely, then yes, it is.”
Potter laughed into his cup, finishing off the last of his drink and setting it on the sill. “Give him a break. It’s his first place; he’s excited.”
Draco eyed his still-full glass with ill-concealed contempt before he looked over to where the Weasel was greeting guests at the door, beaming as he accepted handshakes and pats on the back from the newcomers. He sighed. “I suppose, but you’d think now that he’s raking in an Auror’s salary he could at least spring for something in a bottle. For Merlin’s sake, even you can pick out a decent vintage.”
Harry shook his head, and Draco’s stomach tightened at the way his fringe fell over his eyes when he tilted his head to smile at him. “You really are a right snob, Malfoy.” Draco flicked him two fingers and Harry laughed. “As for me, I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? What with all the picky queens out there.”
Draco shot him a death glare. “If you’re implying I’m a queen, Potter, it’ll be your bollocks.”
Potter pushed off the sill with an easy grin and moved to stand in front of him. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice teasing and just a shade lower. Draco’s mouth went dry, and he nearly choked on his tongue when he tried to swallow. Shifting in his seat, his elbow bumped his cup, knocking it off the sill, and when Potter bent to catch it mid-descent, Draco stood and sidestepped around him, looking anywhere but Potter’s face.
“Where’s the loo in the place, anyway?” he asked, making a beeline for the Weasel before Potter had a chance to answer. Thankfully, the Weasel was more than happy to point it out to him when Draco interrupted a heated discussion about the Cannons, and he headed for the back of the flat after promising that, yes, he would take note of the fancy soaps.
Draco closed the door behind him before falling against it, cursing himself and Potter and the cheap fucking booze. This entire situation had got way out of hand, and unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life in the men’s, Draco needed to figure out a way to deal with it. He splashed some water on his face and then allowed himself three minutes, the majority of which he spent sat on the toilet, contemplating reasonable career moves that would take him out of the Ministry, before he took a deep breath and exited the bathroom.
He’d barely released the doorknob when a hand closed around his bicep and dragged him sideways through a door across the hall. The door slammed shut behind him and he was shoved up against it, coming face to face with Potter, his fingers still tight around Draco’s arm. They both breathed hard, faces only inches apart, and Draco’s blood quickened at the look in Potter’s eye. Controlled fury. Hunger.
Potter grabbed hold of his other arm and tightened his grip before he leaned in and ran the tip of his nose along Draco’s jaw, up the side of his face. Draco shivered. There was nothing gentle about the move; it was primal, predatory. He fought to move, twisting his torso to loosen the grip on his arms but Potter only pressed forward, shoving a thigh between Draco’s legs to pin him to the wall.
He breathed against Draco’s ear. “What did I tell you about running, Malfoy?”
Draco couldn’t control the tremors any longer. He opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it, but Potter had seen. His hands moved up Draco’s arms, to his shoulders, and Draco’s lips parted around quick, sharp intakes of breath as Potter’s left thumb dragged across the base of Draco’s neck. A thud sounded on the other side of the door. They both froze, turning toward the sound as another thud followed by a giggle echoed through the door.
Draco peeked over Potter’s shoulder and realised they were currently in the one place he’d never hoped to see: the Weasel’s bedroom. He gave another protesting shove at Potter’s chest but Potter held him still, eyes locked on the door.
“Come on, love. Let me show you some of my Auror moves, yeah? Training’s made me dead flexible.”
Draco suppressed a groan. Fucking Finnigan. The man was a walking embarrassment.
“Seamus, we can’t just you know-”
The doorknob rattled as wet, smacking sounds filtered through the door, and the muscle in Potter’s jaw jumped. He abruptly stepped away and Draco tumbled to the ground, pushed to the side as Potter yanked the door open and stormed out. Draco blinked, unsure what the fuck had just happened, but he managed to stumble to his feet before Finnigan and his girl du jour could pick themselves up off the floor. Shooting one last look at Potter’s retreating form, Draco reached for his wand and twisted on the spot.
Draco’s eyes darted from side to side as he ran down the alley, chest burning as he sucked in harsh lungfuls of air, his throat raw from the cold. Buildings on either side blocked him in, and there was a chainlink fence up ahead, cutting off the alley. He glanced over his shoulder, Potter right on his heels, and reached for his wand, stepping into a twist and reappearing on the other side of the fence. He stumbled on the landing, his legs near breaking point, but paused to look back at Potter’s surprised face before he tore down the street.
He took a wrong turn straight into another dead end, and was just about to reroute when the air cracked behind him and Potter grabbed him by the back of the robes, shoving him into the building on his left. They were both breathing hard, and Draco knew that Potter’s grip was tight, but not unbreakable. Still, he didn’t have the energy to fight, so he waited, head resting against the brick.
Finally, Potter spoke. “That’s against the fucking rules, Malfoy.” Draco opened his mouth to retort when Potter spun him, and his back connected with the side of the building before Potter’s hand was against his throat, Potter’s mouth against his, biting, hungry, taking. Draco’s head swam. If anything was against the rules, it was this. Potter kissing him, Potter fucking devouring him.
Draco’s fingers closed around each of Potter’s biceps, dizzy with the heat of Potter’s mouth, needing him closer. But Potter pulled back, and Draco’s hands stilled as he looked into Potter’s face, his lips stinging, his body on fire with need and adrenaline and want.
Potter held his eye for a moment before he reached for a door to his right, and Draco tilted his head to look up at the maze of fire escapes decorating the side of the building, cluttered with furniture and dead plants, before he returned his attention to the door. Potter had his wand out, muttering incantations under his breath, before he pulled at the unyielding doorknob. He swore loudly, and a thrill shot up Draco’s spine, his fingers digging harder into Potter’s robes. Merlin, this is how he loved Potter: reckless, unpredictable. Powerful.
Draco smirked when a second spell failed, but Potter just gave him a sharp-edged smile before taking a step back and kicking in the door. It went flying against the hinges, and Potter halted it with his shoulder before it could slam shut again.
Draco swallowed. Well, fuck.
Potter grabbed Draco by the arm and shoved him through the door and into a corridor before slamming him up against the wall. Draco eyes darted around the hall, going wide when he spotted the tiny placards and small brass knockers fixed to every evenly spaced door lining the corridor. He could just make out the script on the door across the hall: a Muggle surname. Draco gulped.
Potter bent his head to press his lips to Draco’s neck but Draco pushed against his chest, trying to wriggle free. “No, Potter. We can’t, not here.” Draco licked his lips. “Please.”
Potter gripped his arms tighter, kissing along his jaw until his lips stopped right below Draco’s ear. “No, here. I’m done playing games, Draco.”
His lips brushed against Draco’s skin and Draco shivered, but he tried to push Potter away again, eyes flickering to the door across the hall as his mind supplied sounds of shuffling feet and squeaking hinges. Potter chuckled darkly, causing another tremor to crawl up Draco’s spine. “Do I have to tie you up then?”
Draco gasped as Potter’s hands trailed down Draco’s arms to circle his wrists, squeezing lightly before he dragged them above Draco’s head and pinned them to the wall. Draco’s breath caught in his throat, eyes avid on Potter’s face as he grabbed both Draco’s wrists in one hand, cupping the bulge in Draco’s robes with the other. Draco arched against him, sucking air between his teeth. “Fuck.”
Potter chuckled again. “I can see I won’t have to tie you up after all.” He bit down hard on Draco’s earlobe, and Draco’s head fell back against the wall with a moan. “But you want me to, don’t you?” Potter whispered, and all Draco could do was jerk his head, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to get his breathing under control. His cock throbbed against Potter’s thigh, and he felt he might come any second.
“Don’t move,” Potter said, and released his arms. Draco nodded dazedly, still caught up in Potter’s words, until he felt the material of his robe bunch around his legs, cool air hitting his shins, his thighs. Draco panicked. His eyes went back to the door across the hall before he glanced down the rest of the corridor. Any moment someone could come out and see them, see him. He looked down to where Potter was pulling the material up over his chest, and his nipples tightened as Potter’s thigh pressed tighter against his exposed cock. “Potter, not here. Let’s just-”
“Incarcerous.” Two lengths of rope shot from the end of Potter’s wand. One wrapped around his wrists as the other pushed between his teeth, scratching his tongue and the corners of his mouth as he fought against it. He tried to speak around the rope, but his words came out garbled. Potter smiled darkly. “Much better.”
Draco glared at him, even as his body arched against Potter’s, the feel of Potter’s robes against his bare skin making him dizzy. Potter chuckled as he tucked Draco’s robes up around his shoulders. “Let’s be clear,” he said as he trailed his fingers across Draco’s chest, smiling at the little tremors that raced through Draco’s body. “I tied you up because I wanted to, and because you wanted me to.” He ran his tongue over a hard nipple and Draco moaned around the rope between his teeth. Draco was on fire, his entire body over-heated, shivery and too sensitive, even as his gaze flickered between Potter and the door across the hall.
Potter kissed up his neck before nipping at his earlobe, and Draco leaned into his mouth, wanting him to do it again, to feel the sharp bite of Potter’s teeth against his skin. Potter’s tongue flicked out to lick at the shell of his ear before he whispered, “But we both know you’d let me fuck you right here no matter what, bare arsed in the middle of the corridor, in front of anyone who might care to look.”
And with that he flipped Draco around, Draco’s eyes squeezing shut as his cheek hit the wall, his bound wrists still braced above his head. His robes draped around his body and he realised he was shaking, his breath coming too fast as he fought to regain his sense of balance. Potter’s hands moved down his back, over the curve of his arse, and Draco moaned, using the friction from his robes to rut against the wall. Potter pulled at the rope gag until the back of Draco’s head was nearly resting on Potter’s shoulder. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Potter released him and his forehead fell against the wall, helping to steady him as Potter hiked the back of his robes up. Potter spread him and Draco groaned. He heard the rustle of fabric and a whispered spell and then two fingers were inside him, pushing in and out, stretching him open. The sting made something raw open up inside Draco’s chest, and he gave up all pretense of control, pushing back against Potter’s fingers, drooling all over his chin as he begged for more with incomprehensible pleas.
Potter must’ve understood though, because the next moment his fingers pulled free and his cock pressed against Draco’s hole before pushing all the way inside. His pelvis rested against the back of Draco’s thighs for only a second before he pulled back and started to fuck him in earnest. It was hard and rough and too fast, and the harsh burn seemed to lodge itself in Draco’s throat, making it difficult to breath, but he pushed back against every thrust, wanting more, needing whatever Potter could give. And then Potter reached under Draco’s robes and grabbed his cock, panting loudly against his ear. He squeezed tight around the head, pulling hard on Draco’s length once, twice, before biting down on his ear. “Now.”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut tight, a strangled cry ripping from his throat, and saw black.
Draco glanced at Potter, his full lips parted around deep, even breaths. One hand splayed across his chest, the other hidden under the pillow tucked beneath Draco’s head. Draco looked back to the ceiling and tried not to fidget. It felt strange, being in bed together. And it felt strange to feel strange about being in bed together. Granted, their whatever was less than orthodox. He stole another glimpse at Potter. It was a step, at least.
A step towards what, exactly, had become clear shortly after Potter had Apparated them back to his flat, laid Draco out on the bed and fucked him through the mattress. Twice. It hadn’t been slow or sweet or gentle – the spot on his neck where Potter had broke skin stung whenever he turned his head – but it was face to face, and Potter had kissed him, open-mouthed and full of teeth, and Draco realised he wanted this, whatever the fuck this was.
There was, of course, one little thing. He turned his head on the pillow. “Potter.”
“Potter, look at me.”
Potter turned, his face relaxed but his eyes suddenly sharp as they searched Draco’s face, as if looking for signs of damage.
“Did you- at the beginning, did you really suspect me of something? Is that why you followed me?”
Potter gave him a small smile before he turned back to the ceiling and Draco relaxed a little. “No.”
Harry’s head fell against the pillow, and Draco saw a hint of bashfulness beneath his lazy smile. “I don’t know, impulse. A fantasy.” His cheeks flushed a little at Draco’s incredulous look. “What?”
Draco let out a startled laugh. “A fantasy?” He waited, but Potter’s features only set into that stubborn look of defiance he knew so well. Draco felt a tinge of surprise. “Since when?”
Potter lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know, since always,” and then he laughed. “The only thing that changed was whether I had to pretend you were guilty or not.”
Draco fought back a smile. “At school then?” At Harry’s nod, he chuckled, surprised again. “So you thought you could, what, thwart my evil doing with sex?” He gave in to the smile. “Potter, you really are an idiot.”
“Oh, fuck off!” Potter laughed as he pulled the pillow from under Draco’s head before rolling on top of him. Potter pressed their lips together, sucking Draco’s tongue into his mouth before he pulled back to grin at him. “It would’ve worked.”
Draco worked a hand free from under the covers and wrapped it around Potter’s neck, pulling him back down for another kiss. Potter started to slowly move against him as his mouth covered Draco’s, and Draco silently agreed that, really, it just might have.
Draco pulled his cloak up against the wind as he exited the alleyway housing the visitor’s entrance. He’d had to take the long way out to avoid another excruciating encounter with Planets; the bloody woman hadn’t left him alone ever since that day in the lift.
Draco turned onto the main street and he’d gone half a block before he noticed the sound of footsteps trailing behind him. He froze, shoulders stiffening. The footsteps stopped, and his hand curled around his wand in the pocket of his cloak as he breathed slowly through his nose, ears straining. Nothing.
Draco’s eyes darted to a nearby side street, and a small smile flashed across his face before he turned, and ran.